


Thicker Than Water

by megyal



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-29
Updated: 2009-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 09:59:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal





	Thicker Than Water

_John McClane: Nine million terrorists in the world and I gotta kill one with feet smaller than my sister. _  
-Die Hard, 1998

_You can kid the world. But not your sister. _   
-Charlotte Gray

*

Catherine Wilson called her younger brother to wish him a Happy New Year, because heavens knew that he needed _some_ kind of damned cheer in his life... and this _kid_ answered his phone.

"Hey, Johnny," she started out in her rasping voice, but there was a short laugh and a strange guy said, "_Johnny_? Wow, never heard _that_ one."

"Who's this?" Catherine frowned, holding her unlit cigarette between the first and second fingers of her left hand. "Wait, did I call the wrong number? Damn, these tiny numbers--"

"Nope. You want John McClane, right?"

"I sure do."

"Then you have the right number. He just stepped out, he'll be back soon."

"Huh." Catherine lit her cigarette, took a long drag and exhaled, gazing out the window at the surprisingly bright day. Mounds of dirty snow were piled up on the sides of the roads, glistening and melting in the sun. "Fine, tell him his sister Cathy called."

"Oh! Sure. Will do!" The young voice chirped and then they hung up. Cathy pulled the phone away from her ear, blinked at it and then settled it on its cradle. She stared at it for a long time, exhaling smoke.

Johnny returned her call three hours later.

"Cathy," he said when she answered. "What is it?"

"What, I can't call my kid brother to wish him a happy new year?" she snapped, and started in on her fifth cig for the day. These fucking things were going to kill her, but at least she'll die doing whatever the hell she wanted.

There was a considering silence, and then he said, "Happy New Year, Cathy."

"Who you got there answerin' your phone, Johnny-boy?" Cathy pounced and she could almost _hear_ her brother raising his eyebrows in exasperation.

"What do you mean, who I got answering my phone," he said, a sharp edge to his voice. "I have friends, and a friend is answering my phone."

"Yeah, yeah. Friends. Same way you got your family?"

"Jesus Christ," John sighed and Cathy grinned into the phone. Her smile faded as she heard someone murmuring a sleepy question.

"No, it's fine." John's voice became a little fainter; he was moving the phone from his face to reply to the soft query. "It's just my fucking sister, getting on my last nerve."

Cathy heard the other person say, quite clearly, as if they were sitting or standing right next to John, "Well, don't let her, man. And how comes I never heard of your sister?"

"Because she's a pain in the ass," John said; at the same time, Cathy asked, "Who the hell is that, John?"

Another long pause. "Matthew Farrell. Not that it's any of your damned business, but I guess you'll find out soon enough anyway."

"Matthew... and what is this dude Farrell doing in your house?"

"He lives here," John said, and there was an edge of a hard smirk in his voice, a challenging tone. "You want to know his Social Security number now? Maybe his blood-type?"

"John," Cathy said very seriously, as something began to dawn on her, something _unthinkable_. "Where are you now? Like right now, where are you, in the living room?"

"In my damned bed, _Catherine_, and so is Matt," he answered, and Cathy slammed the phone down on its cradle, staring at it with large, shocked eyes.

*

Fuck. John pulled the phone away from his ear, blinked at the receiver and then sighed as he returned it to the cradle on the bedside table. He turned his head; Matt was lying down beside him, dressed in a pair of loose pajama-pants and a t-shirt, staring at him with a slightly worried expression in his dark eyes.

"Didn't go exactly the way you wanted, huh." Matt was curled up on his side, knees pulled up. He looked very young like that.

John tried not to let that thought go too far.

"Yeah." John placed his hands behind his head, considering the ceiling. "Not at all."

"Not that I wouldn't want to meet her or anything--"

"You don't _ever_ want to meet Catherine McClane, Matt, trust me on this," John said sharply. He twisted his mouth. "Wilson, now. Her husband's dead, though."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. She says he died to spite her, so he wouldn't have to listen to her again." One corner of John's mouth quirked as Matt chuckled incredulously. "I agreed with her, for once."

Matt laughed a little harder, and John turned his head to smile wryly at him.

"Does she have any children?"

"Yeah, three." John looked up at the ceiling again; all his sister's kids were older than Matt. Details like that would never fail to blindside him, not at all. "Two girls, one boy. They're... I guess they're good kids. I saw them a year ago. You'd like Stephen, he's almost a bigger nerd than you are."

"Gee, thanks. So. Does she have the customary asshole-McClane gene?"

"She got most of it." John smiled as Matt made a choking noise of mock-horror. "I'm the nice one."

"Shit, that's kind of hard to believe."

John turned his head and gave him a very long look, that flat expression that John had perfected after many years of being on the streets. Matt stared back at him, apparently pretending John's face was a computer screen or something, so that he could return the gaze calmly.

"Believe it." John closed his eyes and breathed out slowly when Matt's hand ghosted along his arm.

*

"John there?"

Matt shifted the phone from one ear to the other, tucking it between his shoulder and elbow as he halted his programming. "No, he's out."

He recognized that voice from the other day, when John's sister had called. She had that roughened dragging sound of a smoker, and he heard her exhale rapidly.

"So. You're Matthew."

"Yeah. And?" He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.

"Huh. You're a spicy one," she said after a long moment. "John likes them spicy, I guess. That's the thing about Johnny, he's..."

She sounded just like John, Matt thought as she continued to ramble on about McClane. There was that same manner she drawled through certain phrases, the way she sometimes ate the ends of her words and lengthened her O's.

"But I don't appreciate what you did to my brother, Matthew," she was saying when Matt managed to refocus on her voice. "I'm not appreciating that shit _at all_."

"I really don't care what you might--"

"How old are you, anyway?" Cathy cut in edgily and Matt gritted his teeth.

Matt rolled his eyes. "Thirty-seven."

"Pull the other one, kid," and it was fucking _creepy_ how much she sounded like McClane.

"What is your _problem_?" Matt sat up properly, now gripping the phone with one hand and frowned at nothing in particular. "What, is it like your duty to call McClane once in a blue moon and annoy the shit out of him, is that it? And for your information, I haven't done _anything_ to your damned brother. Whatever we have, that's just how we like it, so you can--"

"St. Peter jumped up on a _stick_, you're probably no more than twenty-five, twenty-six, _tops_. Jesus. You sound just like my Angela, and she's always going on about rights for fags, but let me tell you, my brother ain't one of those nasty types, so you must have done _something_ to him. I have half a mind to come down there and sort you all out, watch if I won't."

Matt found himself shaking. "Hey," he snapped, clenching the fist of his free hand. "Fuck you," and he threw the cordless phone against the wall.

*

Matt barely said two words to John all that night, until John flicked his ear and rumbled, "Spill it."

"Your fucking sister called again," Matt muttered into his pillow, back turned to John.

John wrinkled his brow. "That's why the phone's fucked. See, the trick with her is you have to hang up right after she says _hello_."

"I'm glad I don't have a sister." Matt tried to remain rigid as John moved closer, molding against his back and rubbing against the curve of his ass. Matt tried to wriggle away, but John wrapped an arm around him and pulled him back.

"Look, she's not too bad a person," John defended, but sounded unconvinced himself. "She's just stuck in her ways."

"Like someone I know," Matt grumbled, but he finally succumbed to John's persistent tugs and turned around. He was opening his mouth to say something else, but John's mouth was already on his, John's big hand sliding into his boxers to tug at his stiffening cock. Matt groaned softly against his lips and slid his arms around John's neck, pulling him closer. John rolled atop him, pressing his stiff dick against Matt's groin with delightful little thrusts.

The phone took the opportunity to ring again and Matt felt a strong urge to kill something.

"Nobody's home," John muttered in his ear before giving the lobe a quick nip. Matt felt laughter bubble up out of his throat, and he was about to return the favour when the answering-machine kicked in.

"John McClane." Catherine's voice rang through the apartment with the same authority that Matt presumed avenging angels had. John froze for a moment and then raised his head from where he had been leaving marks on Matt's neck, his eyebrows drawing together.

"John, I gotta tell you that I do not approve. No sir, I _don't_."

"Ah, fuck." John thumped his forehead against Matt's collarbone. "Fuck."

"You don't even get how _wrong_ this all is, John Michael McClane, Mom is probably rolling in her goddamn _grave_\--"

"When she calls you by your full name, you know you're _really_ in trouble," Matt whispered, as if she was in the room with them. John raised his head again, and blinked down at him; his lips quirked, holding back laughter. "Also, Michael is a nice middle name. Just so you know. I think so, anyway."

"Thanks," John said, his eyes warming as he gazed down at Matt, brushing the long strands of dark hair out of his face. He bent close again and kissed him slowly while his sister ranted loudly on the phone. They both snickered when the machine cut her off.

They were just about getting down to more serious business when the phone rang again.

"Fucking thing cut me off," Catherine grumped and John's laughter was loud and surprising, so much so that Matt grinned just at the sound. "Anyway, Johnny. I called back to say that I don't approve--"

"Yeah, yeah," John muttered and groaned when Matt's tongue traced underneath the head of his cock.

"--but you're my kid brother and I love you."

John went, "_What_," sitting upright quite suddenly and Matt pulled off his dick, sitting back on his heels, eyes wide and lip swollen. "Sorry, babe," he told him, sounding distracted and Matt nodded, stretching out at the foot of the bed. He felt kind of pleased, though and he could _see_ the moment when John belatedly realized he'd just called Matt _'babe'_.

"Yeah," Catherine was saying in grudging tones. "I guess I love ya and I want you to be happy. That's all that matters, I've been told."

"Angela must have read her the riot act," John said, shaking his head.

"Angie told me that I was being a fucking stupid old woman. I'm not stupid," she grumbled and John was laughing again. Matt couldn't help himself; he crawled over John and straddled his hips, sampling the sound with his mouth.

"But I know you'll do what you fucking want, anyway," Catherine said. "So go on, you lug. You're still my brother."

"Good to know," John said, rolling them over so he could settle between Matt's legs again.

"Yeah, and I need to meet this Farrell soon. Very soon. Bye, John-boy." Catherine hung up and John seemed unable to stop laughing on the look of terror suddenly plastered on Matt's face.

"Hey," John said with a crooked smile. "Apparently, you've been welcomed to the family."

"Why do I have a _really_ bad feeling about that?" Matt said, but he was smiling back as John kissed him again.

_fin_


End file.
